


Ghost from the Barrow

by I_Amazon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Did I say this was angsty?, F/F, Ghost from the Barrow, Heavy Angst, Irish pub rock, Major Character Undeath, Major character death - Freeform, Noble Lexa (The 100), Thief Clarke Griffin, Tissue Warning, Vengefulspirit!Clarke, barely any relief, very angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 03:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Amazon/pseuds/I_Amazon
Summary: WARNING: I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH. THIS IS ANGSTY!The story was inspired by a song from an Irish pub rock band "Ghost from the Barrow"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n7DN2ivRMKkListen to the song, it will tell you more or less what is going to happen although I am expanding on the story. There is some fluff in the first few chapters, I'll mark it in the Chapter notes when the angst begins. First 2-3 chapters are going to be "safe" Also, there might be SOME relief at the end.I'll be up front though: BOTH Lexa and Clarke die mid-story. DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE THAT. Also please don't hate me too much - reviews would be appreciated even if it's mostly crying and bitching over the unfairness of life. Just be kind to me and remember the fluff I'm writing in other stories :))))
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Ghost from the Barrow

**Author's Note:**

> This one is all fluff for now.

A soft breeze blowing from the direction of the river brought the refreshing scent of fresh water tinged with the scent of the day’s catch. When the soft gusts of wind tangled Lexa’s hair she turned her head in its direction to allow it to blow her locks from her face. It was a rare sunny day the brunette was determined to make the most of. She twisted in her sitting position, facing the river from the boulder she sat atop and leaned back on her elbows to soak in the warmth of the sun. Time lost its meaning to her as her body relaxed in the uncommonly gentle Irish summer weather. Gradually she lowered herself until she was flat on her back, using the palms of her hands to cushion her head against the hard rock.

“You look ‘ceptionally chill there, lass. Mind if I join you?” came a sudden question that startled Lexa out of her almost nap. She sat up in one fluid motion, her hand whipping to the small dagger strapped on her thigh, accessible by the conveniently placed tear in her plentiful dress. 

When her eyes connected with one disarmingly clear blue eye she was frozen mid-motion for a second. It was obvious to her that the woman standing a few steps away from her boulder was not any immediate threat to her. She stared up at her, one eye closed, hand poised to block out the sun, the other hanging casually by her side. There were no visible weapons either in her hands or strapped anywhere. For all intents and purposes, the girl looked harmless. 

Her golden locks reminded Lexa of the time she had first seen a field of ripe wheat and her sky blue eyes complemented that image nicely. Lexa had not yet decided if the cheeky grin ruined or enhanced the image but she gave the blonde a flat look to convey that she was thoroughly unimpressed.

“Cat got your tongue? Come on, scoot over.” The blonde said cheekily as she grabbed the ragged edges of the boulder to hoist herself up. 

Lexa grudgingly moved to the side, seeing how she had not much choice in the matter. She was not about to kick someone off her boulder for trespassing on her hour of solitary relaxation. When the blonde woman flopped down next to her she allowed her legs to dangle down the edge of the rock. Her dress was extremely inconvenient for any form of excessive movement but when she dressed in the early morning hours she had not anticipated that she might need to defend herself against the annoying company of… surprisingly attractive blonde strangers.

“Well I’ll be… aren’t you a fine thing.” Clarke whistled appreciatively. “Name’s Clarke.” She suddenly remembered her manners.

“Lexa” the brunette replied. An elegantly raised eyebrow was all she deigned to offer by way of a reaction to the blatant flirting.

“Quinn?” Clarke asked, surprise spreading across her features.

Lexa barely perceptibly winced upon hearing her family name. ‘ _Ah. She’s local._ ’ It really should not have surprised her that her name would be a give away. More often than not she wished that her parents would have given her a more common name to help her blend in. While being the daughter of the area’s clan chief had its occasional perks it certainly had many drawbacks as well. In this instance her position forced her to keep her walls firmly intact. Much to her chagrin Lexa found it rather difficult to make friends who were genuinely interested in her rather than the advantages they could harvest from her friendship. “Yes…” she replied sulkily. Her voice dropped an octave as her mood suddenly soured. She pulled her legs up and circled them with both arms, allowing her chin to rest between her knees. 

“No need to get sulky with me, princess. I won’t care if you don’t.” Clarke replied easily as she mirrored Lexa’s earlier position and lay back over the sun-warmed rock. After taking and exhaling a deep breath she broke the silence again. “Mm, I see why you looked so content here. This is nice.”

“So… can I do anything for you?” Lexa asked, still holding onto her reservations. The blonde seemed to be genuinely unconcerned about who she was, which, while it was admittedly refreshing, left Lexa in a state of suspicious bewilderment. 

“Not really. I was just taking a stroll, saw how cosy you looked perched here and thought I’d join you.” Clarke replied. “Though I will admit I did not expect such dazzling company. I’m especially taken with your sense of humour.” She said, tone atrociously flirtatious again.

“Hmpf, very funny.” Lexa replied dryly. She thanked God that Clarke still had her eyes closed because she was fairly sure she would not have been able to keep the amused smirk off her face. She was not ready to admit out loud but the blonde woman found her way under her skin in shockingly little time.

“So…Princess Grump, tell me. If you could go anywhere and be anyone…what would you choose?” Clarke finally asked.

“What?” Lexa asked. Her brows solidly furrowed in confusion. That must have been the oddest question anyone had ever asked her. Her station in life did not permit much thought to what she wanted. It was always what she could give or mean to someone else.

“If you could get out of this place, start afresh, what would you want to do?” Clarke rephrased her question as she sat up and looked Lexa square in the eyes. Her expression was open, interested. When Lexa still hadn’t said anything after several seconds she sucked air into her lungs and released it in a steadying breath.

“Look. I’m just trying to be friendly. I can see you are all up in arms though. I imagine you don’t get this often? People approaching you without an intention?” Clarke said, her tone never losing its confidence despite the dejected look that crept into her eyes. When Lexa nodded she only waited a heartbeat for a verbal reply that failed to come. Clarke was never one to stick around where she was not wanted.

“Do you want me to leave?” Clarke asked honestly. “I had no intention of imposing. I didn’t even know who you were until you said your name. But…” She got up into a low crouching position, all the while hoping that Lexa would interrupt her. “Yeah… I can’t say I have a whole lot of experience…talking to high folks. I don’t know what the etiquette is to gaining your favours or acquaintance or whatever.” She had given the brunette plenty of time to offer any indication that her company was not bothersome but when none came she took her cue to leave. “I guess, I’ll see you around. Or I won’t.” She said by way of goodbye and hopped off the rock. 

Lexa wanted to say something. Wanted to tell Clarke not to go. That she was awkward because she was not used to talking to anyone without intentions, except maybe her brother. But the words froze on her lips when she realized that she may have just offended this stranger. When she jumped off the boulder they had been perched on she followed her movement bodily and looked over the edge to catch one last glimpse of the beautiful woman’s face. She opened her mouth to speak but again she felt tongue-tied, her desire to not drive the woman away warring with her suspicious nature. Clarke was not the first attractive woman to flirt with her and Costia’s betrayal still haunted her.

“Well, Princess, you weren’t very good company but you were definitely a vision to behold. May we meet again.” Clarke faked a cheerful tone when all Lexa did was stare at her with her mouth hanging slightly open.

* * *

Clarke had wandered the streets aimlessly, the hood of her top garment securely wrapped around her head, concealing her blonde locks. Her mood might have soured considerably since the morning but she was still on the alert, blue eyes darting at faces surrounding her. She was a thief after all, known quite well in certain parts the fishing city. Down by the wharves she was secure enough to walk about with her face uncovered even in broad daylight. It was her turf and the constables stood out in any crowd so much it was not particularly difficult to avoid them. 

The market was an entirely different territory. It was her playground in a sense. She would occasionally sell some of the things she had nabbed, although more often than not she only took money or food. And on occasion, less often than not, she shared her bounty with the impoverished of the wharf district. It was one of the reasons they tolerated her and even hid her on the few occasions that the need arose.

Everyone in the area knew they were safe from her trade. Clarke had her own set of twisted morals. She only stole from those who had more than they needed. She did not liken herself to that Robin Hood fellow of the Sassenachs*. She did not see herself as nearly good enough for that. She probably had a better chance of shooting herself than anything else with the bow and arrow and she definitely kept far too much for herself to be considered anything like that goody-two-shoes. But she was not heartless. The blonde kept tabs on the poorest of the poor and when they had not managed to scrape enough for food in a number of days she made certain that a side of bacon or loaf of fresh bread miraculously appeared on their tables in the dead of the night. She prided herself on the fact that she had never been caught either in the act of taking or giving. Yet everyone knew it had been her. Which is why stealth and caution were her necessary friends out in the market. The constables were more vigilant there and she would certainly find herself swinging for her so called crimes before long if they caught her.

She did her best to ignore the glaring sting the morning’s rejection left in her chest. She had had no idea who the brunette was until she revealed her name. Lexa was not a very common name in Ireland. She noted with some surprise that her near-legendary beauty had not been the product of the snobbish overstatement of the high folks. In retrospect she kicked herself for not recognizing who the girl was as soon as she had the chance to lay her eyes properly on her. Her only saving grace was that the brunette’s angelic features had robbed her of most of her brain faculties. That first moment her eyes connected with those deep forest green doe eyes she could have been clobbered by a dozen screaming constables and she would not have noticed until they had her in their grasp. 

Clarke faked the nonchalance she certainly did not feel at the time. Even as she moved from the market towards the wharves, mental images of the brunette’s plump lips and guarded glances crowded in on her brain. Granted, she had not tried particularly hard and she left the brooding woman to her thoughts after a few failed attempts at conversation. Deep inside, Clarke hoped that she had read the signals right. When she left Lexa looked like there were words stuck to the roof of her mouth, desperately trying to get them out but ending up tongue-tied anyway. Clarke spent her entire walk from the cliffs back to the city pondering the brunette’s strange behaviour. She was fairly certain that she had not recognized her as the infamous menace of Bagenalstown. She rather looked like someone who was used to people wanting something from her. Although she knew she shouldn’t follow through, a yearning to disprove Lexa’s experiences wedged itself deep in Clarke’s chest. Her brows were weighed down with brooding thoughts as she entered her meagre abode to rest before her night shift started.

* * *

“Where have you been, baby sister?” A gruff voice greeted Lexa as she entered through the archway leading to the gardens surrounding her father’s house. Her home. Her first reaction to the sound was to flinch nervously but she was soon flooded with relief when the endearing term caught up with her. Her brother was about the only person in the world who spared her any affection without intentions behind it. The man was built like a mountain. His shoulders were wide and he was possibly the tallest man Lexa had ever laid eyes on. He was so unlike their father that she sometimes secretly wondered if they were truly related. Much to their father’s displeasure he wore his hair like some of those warriors of old lore, shaved on the sides and braided in the back. In Lexa’s opinion it was possibly the only way in which he went openly against their father’s wishes.

“Gus… is it any of your business?” Lexa replied, her words cutting but her tone friendly if a little worn around the edges. She loved her brother with all her heart and she felt that on very bad days their constant friendly banter was about the only thing her sanity could cling to.

“Not in the least” Gustus offered good-naturedly. “But father is cross with you. I thought you would appreciate the warning.”

“Indeed, I do, big brother. Thank you.” Lexa said, sighing with resignation she turned towards the house, knowing that any further delay would only make her father more cross. And having Titus Quinn cross at one was never conducive to anything worth hoping for. Her father had not been a cruel man by any stretch of the word either by word or action. Yet his steadily disapproving gaze and impossible expectations were a menace to Lexa. He expected Lexa to marry soon and to add insult to injury he expected to choose her husband to strengthen his political position in the county. _‘If you could get out of this place, start afresh, what would you want to do?’_ Clarke’s question haunted the brunette and she was genuinely regretful that her brooding and mistrust had chased the lively blonde away.

“Where have you been, Lexa?” Another gruff voice greeted the brunette as she entered the drawing room. Lexa flinched only internally this time and it was not followed by any measure of relief. She sent a silent prayer of gratitude for her brother’s merciful warning.

“I was out taking a stroll, father. The city felt stifling today.” Lexa offered the sparse words as a response.

“Without a chaperone.” Titus said curtly.

“Yes. You have insisted that I learn to defend myself and I consented. Yet you still expect me to spend my free time in the company of greasy-haired and uncouth men.” Lexa countered in exasperation. She knew she was not furthering her cause but she had had enough of this frequently repeated conversation.

“The Quinns are the most powerful clan in this part of the county, Lexa. Many of my enemies would wet themselves from pleasure if they could grab you.” Titus said. He was only ever wordy when he chastised. “And you would not need the company of my guard if you had finally settled on a suitor.” He added.

“We have discussed this quite enough times, Father. You have given me until the end of the next year. It is barely just summer yet.” Lexa argued back. The dread of being forced into a loveless marriage coiled nauseatingly in the pith of her stomach.

“Do not stray outside the city walls without company, Lexa. Next time it happens the guarda will have orders to escort you back rather than observe.” He said with a tone of finality, indicating that his lecture was over. But his last words struck a cord with Lexa. _‘Observed? Had they seen Clarke then?’_ Lexa worried that the hapless woman might be targeted for interrogation. Her heart ran cold with unpleasant thoughts as she entered her luxurious prison cell. 

* * *

Clarke could be surprisingly agile and swift on her feet when the need arose. It was a necessary by-product of her trade. Scaling walls to unguarded topmost windows had always been her surest entry and exist points and the unassuming high folk never appeared to learn. Granted, most of them were rather quick to accuse their own loyal servants before entertaining the notion that foreign hands were at play. It was yet another reason why the folks friendliest to Clarke came from the lowest of classes. The poor souls accused of her theft were here natural enemies more than the rich she preyed on.

The house she had chosen to get her meal from that night was a quietly unassuming one at first glance. Its high walls surrounding the gardens gave its occupants a false sense of safety. The blonde, however, would have dissolved that notion within a matter of moments had they seen the spectacle of her entry. She needed but two small cracks that made the otherwise smooth wall uneven. Nimble fingers plunged into the cracks, Clarke hoisted herself atop the wall with quick movements then down the wall on the other side with the same momentum. She landed in a low crouching position and waited, nerves taut with attention. When no alarms were raised she quickly made her way across the well kept lawn and scouted the house, eyes darting to all possible hiding spots and exit points. She grinned triumphantly when she noted that the back of the house was overgrown with ivy. _‘Piece of cake.’_ If there was anything Clarke liked better than drain pipes it was ivy vines. In her head she had long ago started calling the sturdy plant ‘thief ladder’.

She made quick work of climbing to the topmost window conveniently situated right next to the overgrown plant’s thickest vines and strained her ears for any sound of movement or awareness. When none came she cautiously peeked through the window into the pitch black room. It appeared to be a library of sorts. Clarke was crouched low beneath the window in a matter of seconds, her ears straining to hear anything in the deafening silence. She kept out of the soft moonlight filtering through the window and crept past bookshelves lining the walls, making her way towards the large and ornately decorated desk. 

Clarke never wasted her time looking for the strongbox of the house. While she was sure most were rather unimaginatively placed behind portraits or under beds she had no use for them. They contained far more than she needed and as such were well-guarded. She was not about to expend time and energy when her needs could be met in much more effortless ways. Why bother trying to break open the strongbox, a decidedly noisy affair, when she could nab food and loose coin silently? Clarke was also aware that more likely than not the reason the authorities did not try particularly hard to apprehend her was because she never crossed that line from being a nuisance to being a threat. Loose coin and food were barely above notice for the high folks unlike the safety of their riches.

A quick glance over the table and Clarke had a handful of figs stuffed in her oversized pockets. They were rather exotic in these parts and Clarke could never resist the sweet fruit. Rifling through the drawers awarded her with a couple of coins enough to buy her a decent meal the next day. She considered her shift over for the night. She exited the premises as quietly as she came, its occupants not once stirring from their slumber. She made her way back towards the wharves with a light spring in her step only to falter to a stop at a familiar junction. She knew to steer clear of the west end of that street. Constables patrolled the area more frequently. When she first arrived in the city she had not known why but tavern gossip quickly informed her the Quinn estate was to be found at the end of the street. _‘Of course the mighty Titus Quinn would have his house so heavily guarded…’_

Against her better judgment Clarke made her decision in a matter of seconds and doubled back until the next, less heavily patrolled street. Creeping down the road she scanned the houses until she found one rich enough to have proper drainpipes. She made quick work of scaling the wall and was perched on top of the roof in a matter of minutes. Crouching low again she squinted to see any movement on any of the other roofs. Had she been employed at the garda she would have surly suggested placing at least a constable or two atop the neighboring rooftops. The blonde occasionally toyed with the idea of how crime would be made impossible were she to find herself on the other side of the law. More often than not, however, she scoffed at the preposterousness of the very notion.  
She had made a fortunate choice to scale that particular house for its roof provided convenient access to the next house which was the last before the Quinn estate. She hesitated for a few seconds. She knew it was one of her less bright ideas but she wanted to see the brunette again. She did not have the slightest notion of the layout of the house, nor was she particularly experienced in finding people. If anything, she was adept at avoiding them. _‘Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.’_ She thought absent-mindedly as she dropped down from the secluded section of the wall. 

Common sense told her that the brunette’s room was likely to be on the upper levels and possibly facing away from the streets. A row of three windows next to each other presented her with a problem. She knew that Titus Quinn had a son and a daughter so it was obvious that these were likely their separate sleeping quarters. _‘But which one to try…’_ She had easily ruled out the last window for she saw the flickering light of a candle cast shadows on the wall. Cold logic told her to try the other two first. On a whim she chose the leftmost window and scaled the fine brickwork. She barely poked her head through the window before she ducked back with lightning speed. A large figure had bent over the table. Much too large to have been Lexa. _‘Probably the brother.’_ The soft glow of candle light illuminated the room and Clarke remained frozen on her spot. It was uncomfortable, the way her fingers and toes dug into the crease between the bricks but she dared not make a noise until she saw the glow of the candle fade and the distinct noise of a door being shut confirmed to her that the occupant of the room had departed.

Clarke contemplated aborting her mission. It would have been the sensible thing to do. She was not even sure the brunette would appreciate her gesture but she was inexplicably drawn to the doe eyed brooding woman. Clarke scoffed at herself. _‘Inexplicable my ass. I would rob the King of England blind to have that plump bottom between mine.’_ Emboldened by desire Clarke scaled the wall once again, this time aiming for the middle window. There was no rustle of movement or conspicuous glow of light so she determined it was safe to take a peek.

The room was quiet but not in the way of unoccupied rooms, there was no stillness to the silence. The blonde sat perched on the windowsill, muscles strained with attention to leap out of sight at the smallest sign of life. Her straining eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room as she sat there and soon she could make out the small lump on the bed indicating that it was occupied. The blonde scanned the room hoping that it would betray the identity of its occupant. The dresser on the opposite were in favour of the room being that of a woman’s but the swords she spotted on the walls made her pause. Knowing that she the more she stayed the high the chance of detection became Clarke silently lowered one of her legs to the ground. Crouching low she crept towards the bed. Her heart raced deafeningly as she struggled to hear anything past the rushing of blood in her ears. 

Her bravery was rewarded, for when the occupant of the bed turned on their side she glimpsed the cascade of brown hair long before she reached the bed. _‘The chief is bald. This must be Lexa.’_ Not needing any more confirmation she crept back towards the dresser. Despite being illiterate Clarke grabbed the pen and a piece of scrap paper she found. With confident strokes she drew a quick sketch of themselves perched on the boulder by the river. Having seen her name written down before she curved a ‘C’ next to the drawing by way of making sure the brunette would understand. She crept back to the bed and placed the bit of paper on the small stool she found there. Acting on another whim she placed one of her figs on top. Before she could make any further stupid decisions she departed, leaving the house largely undisturbed.

**Author's Note:**

> Sassenachs - Irish sort of derogatory word for the English


End file.
